


Drop In and See Us Sometime

by allmilhouse



Category: Mr Blandings Builds His Dream House (1948)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Kissing, M/M, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29730504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allmilhouse/pseuds/allmilhouse
Summary: While Jim and Muriel are buildingtheirdream house, Bill can't help but feel a little excluded
Relationships: Bill Cole/Jim Blandings/Muriel Blandings, Jim Blandings/Muriel Blandings





	Drop In and See Us Sometime

**Author's Note:**

> not the strongest entry in the cary grant ot3 cinematic universe (cgot3cu) but goddamn that ending gets me every time

Bill comes by to help them pack up, late one night, after the girls have gone to bed. He loved those kids like they were his own, but it was time for a serious, grown-up conversation- well, as serious as Jim could handle. He was always a dreamer, with Bill being the practical one and Muriel the tiebreaker. But this one scheme of his was something else entirely, and Bill felt it was his duty as an impartial third party to voice his concerns. 

“You know, I’m still against this,” he says sadly, looking around the small living room. 

“Against what?” Jim looks over from where he’s carefully wrapping up the wedding china in the late edition, a puzzled version of his usual radiant smile. He could be so obtuse at times, but it made him all the more loveable. 

“Against moving! Giving up your wonderful apartment and taking off for the country.” 

“Not this again,” Muriel pipes up, appearing suddenly from the kitchen to pass another stack of dishes to Jim. She folds her arms and looks at him, frowning. “You know, this apartment is a lot less wonderful the longer you live here.”

Bill sighed. He was used to having to talk sense into Jim, but Muriel was supposed to be the reasonable one. “You know I’m right, and your hotheaded husband does too. There’s too many memories here! Remember your first anniversary party? Why, it was in this very room that I kissed you for the first time. Or those dishes,” he nods at the plate in Jim’s hand. “How many dinners have you invited me over for? Or breakfasts?” His voice raises slightly, and he’s worried he’s overplayed his hand, but Jim just shakes his head. 

“You think we won’t remember all that?” he asks, all action as he rises from the couch. “Or that we won’t make new memories in our new house?”

Bill persists, like any good attorney. “Yes, but think of everything you’ll be giving up.”

“Giving up?” Jim’s pacing by now, tearing a strip back and forth, covering the four steps of the living room in two, the way he does when he’s working on a pitch. If he can sell half of America a new type of breakfast food, he could certainly sell Bill on their prospective new home. “We’re giving up nothing. If anything, we’re gaining. Yes, gaining! A veneer of respectability! Our own slice of the American Dream!” At Bill’s bemused snort, Jim glances over, a sly look on his face. He tries a different tack, his voice taking on a beguiling growl. “A place of our own, secluded and nice. A place where there’s no nosy neighbors to wonder why we entertain so late. A place where maybe we lose track of time, and you miss the last train back to the city, and might have to spend the night. We’ll have plenty of space.” 

Bill pauses then, a lump forming in his throat. He didn’t want to admit it, but he had felt vulnerable lately. All those happy families in the suburbs seemed to get along just fine with only husbands and wives, and no need for any third member to bring out the best of the couple. “You’re not doing all this for me, are you?”

Jim laughs. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re doing it for the closet space.”

“And the bathrooms,” Muriel adds, with a smile. “We need the extra bathrooms. But we do love you Bill, and having this house would make it easier on all of us.” 

They’re both looking at him, so fond and determined, reminding him of that first night, when they’d cornered him together. His new client, bringing him home to meet the wife, who just happened to be Bill’s old college sweetheart. They’d laughed at the coincidence, and hadn’t stopped laughing, thirteen years and two children later. 

He’s trapped and he knows it. He also knows damn well he’d follow them both to the ends of the earth, or out to Connecticut, which may as well be just as far. But as long as the other two were with him, then wherever they were would be home. “Very well,” he finally conceded. “But I hope you know what you’re doing.” 

“Nuh-huh, that’s your department, I’m just the idea man,” Jim says as he pulls Bill in for a kiss, before passing him over to Muriel for a softer, sweeter second kiss. “Now, are you going to help us pack or not?”

Bill turns back to the bookshelf, slightly dazed but now firmly committed to help. At least, until he opens the door to the cabinet, pausing in confusion. “Why is there a basket of men’s socks in your living room?”


End file.
